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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254192">Unwanted Mysteries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey'>athena_crikey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Courting Death [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Referenced Child Abuse, Second Sight - Freeform, assassins amok, psychic Hisoka, shameless flirting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:22:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Pleasure is pleasure,” dismisses Illumi. “Rats will starve themselves for it, and I presume you would too. Love is something else entirely. You’re drawn to me because your disaster of a childhood has left you craving danger.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s smile is wry. “And you’re drawn to me because you’ve never met anyone who was interested in you as a person and not a weapon. Face it, Illumi; we’re both crackers. <i>Much</i> more fun to be mad together.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Courting Death [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unwanted Mysteries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hisoka offers him first use of the shower, after initially suggesting that they go in together, a suggestion Illumi declines. Once locked inside he goes through Hisoka’s bathroom drawers without any shame, finding an extensive collection of make-up, combs, hair product, hair dye, shears, shaving paraphernalia and two sealed condoms. With the dye there are some elastics and clips; he uses the clips to put his hair up and steps into the shower. </p>
<p>The soap is pleasantly scented – like cinnamon and orange – and he lathers himself up and washes it off in warm water. </p>
<p>He reflects as he washes on his impressions of Hisoka. He finds that his initial steely reservations have softened, doubts shifting to uncertainties, and wonders if it is because of the physical satisfaction Hisoka gave him. Certainly the fortune-teller had elicited unsuspected pleasure in him, opening him to a new understanding of his body. Illumi was taught to have a rigid divide between physical and mental, such that torture would have no effect on his mind. </p>
<p>He was never taught how to cope with bliss, though. His fingers slip inside, cleaning himself out, and he shudders lightly at the memories of Hisoka taking him. </p>
<p>Illumi finishes washing himself off and turns off the shower, stepping out onto a fluffy mat and picking up the towel Hisoka had provided. It smells of fabric softener and a freshening sheet. </p>
<p>When he’s done he deposits the towel in the clothes hamper, pulls down his hair and returns the clips to their drawer, and strides out into the bedroom. </p>
<p>Hisoka is lying on his stomach on the bed, legs curled up, reading his phone. He’s still naked. Illumi can’t help but allow his eyes to take in the sight of him. The straight line of his spine, his narrow waist, his full hips and ass.</p>
<p>Hisoka looks up and grins lasciviously. “Enjoy your shower?”</p>
<p>“It was adequate,” replies Illumi. “Thank you for permitting me first use.”</p>
<p>“So polite,” drawls Hisoka, turning over with one leg propped up to put himself on show. This time, Illumi doesn’t allow his eyes to wander; he keeps them locked on Hisoka’s. </p>
<p>“Make yourself at home. There’s food and some good scotch in the kitchen.” He gets up, tossing his phone on the bed, and strides into the bathroom. </p>
<p>Illumi has been trained to be a perfect killer since the age of three. He has no compunction about theft, threats, violence, or murder. It goes without saying that he has no problem snatching up Hisoka’s phone to snoop through it before it can lock itself. </p>
<p>Hisoka’s mail is mostly bills and e-flyers from clothes stores advertising sales. His texts are a mixture of alerts from service providers and food delivery apps, and extremely brief and lewd conversations with numbers that he hasn’t bothered to enter into his contacts. Illumi reads several of them and learns nothing other than that Hisoka has a very graphic imagination. </p>
<p>There are no social media accounts linked to the phone. Illumi closes his windows and drops it on the bed, no further ahead. He pulls on his clothes and steps out into the apartment’s main room.</p>
<p>The kitchen is shades of white and grey, the countertop marbled quartz and the cupboards flatly white. Illumi looks through them all, and apart from a Heckler and Koch P7 that he finds in the cutlery drawer discovers nothing of interest. He does turn up the scotch, but sets in aside in favour of caffeine. </p>
<p>By the time Hisoka emerges from the shower smelling of cinnamon and hairspray, Illumi is calmly making coffee. It drips through the filter into the pot, the smell rich, aromatic. Hisoka, wearing a tight tank top emblazoned with card suits and a low-riding pair of board shorts, pads over to lean against the breakfast bar beside the stools. His make-up is gone, his face looking somehow sharper and more predatory without it. </p>
<p>“Mm, do you always make coffee for your tricks?” he asks, elbow resting lazily on the high countertop, knuckles propped against his cheekbone. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” replies Illumi. “You’re the first.”</p>
<p>Hisoka blinks, eyes widening, his hand falling away. “You mean – ”</p>
<p>“The first in a bed, in a dwelling,” clarifies Illumi. “It has significant advantages to back alleys.”</p>
<p>Hisoka gives a bark of laughter. “And here I imagined you riding your lovers in amongst silken sheets while your family portraits look down disapprovingly.”</p>
<p>“We use linen at home. It is cooler in the summer.” The coffee finishes trickling down and Illumi opens the cupboard containing mugs, pulling two out. He pours out the hot liquid and pushes a mug over to Hisoka, who comes into the kitchen. His hip brushes Illumi’s as he slips by, going into the fridge for cream and pouring some into his coffee. When he’s stirred it in he hops up on the nearest counter, legs swinging like a child in a high chair. </p>
<p>Illumi looks up at him, his back resting against the countertop behind him. “Tell me about yourself,” he says.</p>
<p>“The past is terribly tedious,” replies Hisoka, nails tapping on his mug.</p>
<p>“You seem inordinately interested in mine. What about this supposed gift of yours? How did you come about it?”</p>
<p>Hisoka takes a sip of his coffee, shrugs. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember. It earns my living now, but when I was little it was nothing but a misery. Either people believed me, and wanted to control me, or they didn’t believe me, and wanted to hurt me. Heads you win tails I lose.”</p>
<p>“Your parents?”</p>
<p>“My mother died when I was three. I never knew my father. I was in foster care until I was fourteen, when I ran away. Since then, I’ve done what I want when I want.”</p>
<p>Illumi looks around at the clean line of the kitchen, the large den space, the separate bedroom. “You can afford this apartment by telling fortunes at summer carnivals?”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s eyes glint under the bright lights. “Getting a little personal, aren’t we?” He kicks his bare feet out carelessly. They’re long and finely-boned, his toes well-proportioned and smooth. The nails are painted blue. “I have some clients online. I perform readings for them on request. They are far more lucrative, but also far less regular. The carnival pays the staples. In the off-season I work at clubs and some of the casinos in Santa Rosa.”</p>
<p>“You can tell fortunes for people over the internet?”</p>
<p>“So long as I’ve met them in person at least once, yes.”</p>
<p>Illumi drinks his own coffee, kicking himself. He’s treating Hisoka’s strange claim to clairvoyance like it’s real, like it’s not a scam. </p>
<p>Illumi was raised to believe in science. His early years were focused on a heavy curriculum of anatomy, biology, chemistry and physics. He knows that life is short and compartmentalized – and when it’s over, it’s over. Done, finished, no reset, no second chances. That’s why he’s paid so much; the solution he offers to problems is <i>permanent</i>. Things like astrology and tea-reading and tarot cards went unmentioned for the entirety of his upbringing; they didn’t have to be mentioned, because everything he was taught was anathema to their existence. </p>
<p>And yet, there is Hisoka. Hisoka who knows things no one outside the family could know, who pulls facts and memories out of thin air. He should be pumping him for information, should by this stage be tying him down and jamming pins under his nails. And yet the sheer impossibility of his knowledge stays Illumi’s hand. </p>
<p>In the back of his mind a single question echoes:<i> What if he’s telling the truth?</i></p>
<p>On the counter Hisoka presses his muscular knees together, hands cupping his coffee, smile amused. “Pondering that idea, love?”</p>
<p>“I don’t like mysteries,” replies Illumi with a frown. </p>
<p>“I imagine not. People like you tend to be very factual. So much easier in your line of work not to have unwanted surprises cropping up.”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> are an unwanted surprise.”</p>
<p>Hisoka snorts into his coffee. </p>
<p>“Everything about you is bizarre. You invite me – the man hired to kill you – out to play video games at a children’s arcade. You follow me to a coffee shop. Then you take me home and fuck me – like we were two lovers on a date.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t that what we are?” asks Hisoka, blinking innocently. </p>
<p>“<i>You</i> are a carnival conman and <i>I</i> am an internationally-active assassin. Love does not enter into it.”</p>
<p>Hisoka leans forward, legs crossing at the ankles, heels pressed up against the cupboard beneath him. “But it could. Tell me you didn’t feel anything while I was fucking you – tell me it wasn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Tell me you don’t want more.”</p>
<p>“Pleasure is pleasure,” dismisses Illumi. “Rats will starve themselves for it, and I presume you would too. Love is something else entirely. You’re drawn to me because your disaster of a childhood has left you craving danger.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s smile is wry. “And you’re drawn to me because you’ve never met anyone who was interested in you as a person and not a weapon. Face it, Illumi; we’re both crackers. <i>Much</i> more fun to be mad together.”</p>
<p>Illumi huffs. “I still don’t believe you, you know.”</p>
<p>“Yes, the conman comment tipped me off,” replies Hisoka dryly. “But we have plenty of time.”</p>
<p>“In fact, we don’t. I’m due to fly out tomorrow. I don’t live here, you know.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s face is splashed with surprise. “Well. Why not?”</p>
<p>“I live at home. With the rest of my family.”</p>
<p>“You’re what, twenty? Twenty-one? High time to move out.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous – my parents expect me to shoulder my part of the family business.”</p>
<p>“Tell them you’ve met someone. Someone fabulous,” says Hisoka, grinning. “Someone scintillating and sexy who swept you right off your feet and into his bed.”</p>
<p>“Definitely not,” says Illumi, scandalized at the thought. “But,” he adds, slowly, “I do have first pick of the assignments. There are quite often contracts set here. I will return.”</p>
<p>“You’ll stay for dinner, at least?” Hisoka finishes his coffee and stands. His eyes are sun-bright, his smile expectant. </p>
<p>“Very well.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Dinner turns out to be butter chicken. Hisoka follows no recipe but adds ingredients with a bold, confident hand, mixing the vibrantly orange sauce and cooking the chicken in it. It’s intensely aromatic, the small kitchen filled with the scents of tomato, butter and spice. He cooks jasmine rice to go with it, making more than Illumi thinks they can possibly eat. He also hands over place settings for Illumi to set on the breakfast bar, the scene ridiculously domestic.<p>The food is surprisingly good. Not up to the standards of the Zoldyck mansion with its cordon bleu chef, of course, but rich and tangy. The chicken is moist, and the rice soft but not spongy. “You cook well for a boy who ran away from protective services,” he says, his feet wrapped around the bar of his stool. Somehow he had expected boxed macaroni and cheese, or frozen dinners – a horror he has never experienced. Not that he supposes Hisoka would think much of raw eggs for breakfast. </p>
<p>Hisoka, sitting on the stool beside him, shrugs. “I like good food, but I couldn’t afford to eat out for all my meals. Necessity is the mother of making an effort. I can mix a mean cocktail and dance the tango too, you know.”</p>
<p>Illumi glances at him, his eyes passing down Hisoka’s long, fit form. He has a sudden vision of him in tight pants and a dark vest, eyes sultry and his movements pure sex distilled onto a ballroom floor. </p>
<p>Illumi can also tango, having no difficulty in copying his dance instructor’s every move. He has been less successful at putting seduction into his gaze. </p>
<p>“Perhaps a demonstration sometime,” he says before taking a bite. </p>
<p>Hisoka grins.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>They end up in bed together again, entirely expectedly. Illumi is still tense and sore from the pounding he took in the afternoon, Hisoka unsubtle when it comes to sex – and most everything else. But the pain is nothing compared to what he’s been trained to withstand, and after almost twenty minutes of Hisoka kissing colour into his skin he spreads his legs for the fortune-teller and lets him work the toys in again. He’s feeling meltingly warm, muscles soft and relaxed and stomach full of a curling desire that washes through him thick as honey. It fills his body with heat, with tenderness, with the same strange want he had felt for the first time earlier today.<p>This time Hisoka has him on his back, ass raised on pillows, and he goes down on him while he plunges the toys in. His tongue is strong and skilled, caressing Illumi’s cock from top to bottom, licking into his slit, under his foreskin, along his veins. Illumi digs his fingers into Hisoka’s scalp while he swallows him down, fingers that were taught to cut and hack and throttle now kneading pleasure into his fucktoy. Hisoka moans for him, the sound muffled by Illumi’s prick. </p>
<p>It’s a slower, more deliberate pace, Hisoka rocking the dildo into him rather than driving it, coaxing wave after wave of bliss from Illumi’s body. His back grows tenser and tenser, arching further into the mattress as he seeks to open himself to Hisoka’s penetration. He tries to keep watching the fortune-teller, inexplicably turned on by the sight of his cock pulsing in and out of Hisoka’s mouth, but the rhythm of his ecstasy turns his head upwards, his glazed eyes staring at the ceiling as Hisoka pleasures him. </p>
<p>Finally Hisoka releases his spit-soaked cock and comes up for a kiss, pulling the toy out of him as he rises. He lies over Illumi, skin to skin, rutting his hips against Illumi’s, their cocks bumping against each other. His mouth is hot and wet and it sets about devouring Illumi while their hips grind together. Hisoka’s making obscene sounds as he kisses Illumi, lewd, hungry moans. They set Illumi’s skin on fire. He’s so full of need, a kind of neediness he’s never known, he who was raised to nothing and everything. And then Hisoka’s reaching down, grasping his hips and lifting him like he weighted nothing. </p>
<p>Hisoka pushes inside him, fast and ruthless, and Illumi doesn’t give a fuck about the speed or the tenderness in his ass because he feels <i>amazing</i>. His head cants backwards, hair pooling on the bedspread like ink, and he lets out a long breathy moan. </p>
<p>“Still want to go home?” asks Hisoka as he pounds into him, the whole bed moving with the strength of his movements. </p>
<p>“Nnngh,” says Illumi, who thinks it may be a crime to feel this good, that if ordinary people knew sex was this good they would never get out of their beds. Hisoka’s angling his hips upwards and driving into Illumi’s sensitive prostate, pleasure suffusing him with every stroke, pulsing like strobe lights. </p>
<p>“What was that?”</p>
<p>“You’re – a bastard,” pants Illumi, as Hisoka kneads his fingers into his ass, pulling his cheeks apart and slamming in deeper, his cock buried fully inside Illumi’s throbbing hole. </p>
<p>“Oh? Should I stop? Are you not enjoying it?”</p>
<p>“<i>Hisoka</i>,” he hisses, breathless and desperate. </p>
<p>Hisoka pinches his ass. “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Fuck you – don’t stop.”</p>
<p>“Then tell me: will you move here?”</p>
<p>“No. No. No – no – no,” he’s losing track of his thoughts, focused only on the ecstasy filling him, rough-edged and so strong, twisting his fingers and toes and making him sob. “<i>No – no – no,</i>” he repeats it like a chant in time to Hisoka’s thrusts as he suddenly feels himself climbing the steep edge of orgasm, the whole of him intent only on that. “<i>No – no – oh fuck</i>,” he arches into Hisoka’s cock and comes, wetting both their chests. He rocks against Hisoka for several seconds, milking the last of the pleasure. Then he sighs, sated, and sinks back to the bed. </p>
<p>Hisoka’s eyes are glassy, hazy, his brow furrowed as if in deep thought. He finishes shortly afterwards, grasping Illumi as he comes, biting out a rough cry. When he’s done he drops down on top of the assassin, his face pressed in Illumi’s hair. “You never use a gun,” he whispers into Illumi’s ear. “Not because you can’t, but because a slit throat is so much more certain.”</p>
<p>Illumi stares up at the ceiling. “Is that what you think about while you’re fucking me?”</p>
<p>“Mm. That’s what your skin tells me. So much violence, Illumi. I want it all.” He reaches out and turns Illumi’s face to the side, presses a lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth. </p>
<p>Illumi sighs. Whatever the answer to Hisoka’s impossible knowledge of him is, he’s not going to find it tonight. “It’s getting late.”</p>
<p>“You may stay the night if you care to. The sofa is comfortable.”</p>
<p>“You won’t let me share your bed?”</p>
<p>Hisoka rises on one elbow, eyes shadowed. “I don’t sleep with others.”</p>
<p>“Afraid of having your throat slit?” Illumi smiles slightly. </p>
<p>“No,” replies Hisoka, a little shortly. “My night terrors are entirely of my own making.”</p>
<p>Illumi stretches, then gets out of the rumpled bed. “Thanks for the offer, but I will return to my rental apartment. I have to clean and pack.”</p>
<p>“You will come back,” says Hisoka. His eyes are like molten glass, smouldering. </p>
<p>It’s not a question.</p>
<p>“I will do my best,” replies Illumi. </p>
<p>He can’t help but wonder how in such a short time Hisoka has already gained so much influence over him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>At home he greets Mother and Killua, stopping to give his favourite brother a chocolate bar. He showers off the tiredness of his long flight, then changes into some new clothes. It’s always welcome to have access to his larger closet. By the time he’s dressed his bag has already been unpacked by his valet, the clothes from his trip doubtless making their way to the laundry.<p>As nice as the comforts of home are, none of it is important right now. Right now, he has something he needs to do. He walks downstairs, then down again into the basement. He can hear the sounds of the games before he arrives at Milluki’s door. </p>
<p>He steps in without knocking, the room dark except for the blue light flooding out of several TVs and computer monitors. Milluki is playing at his main computer, his face leant in close to the screen, one hand clicking rapidly at the mouse while the other scrambles in a bag of chips.</p>
<p>“Millu,” greets Illumi. Milluki grunts but doesn’t turn around. “I have work for you.”</p>
<p>“What work? I’m busy.”</p>
<p>“I need a level three dossier prepared. The level one file was incorrect.” </p>
<p>There are three levels of dossiers prepared by the Zoldyck family for targets. Level one for those rated no challenge and unlikely to pose any danger; it consists of simple background information and likely locations where the target can be found. Level two is for targets who may be difficult to trace or have back-up and includes more details of their habits and acquaintances. </p>
<p>Level three is for high-profile targets where every scrap of background information is important, their entire lives laid bare to the men who will end them. </p>
<p>“Level three,” moans Milluki. “Are you kidding? Do you know how long those take? I just set up a game with a practice partner for –”</p>
<p>“Millu. This is business,” interrupts Illumi flatly. He considers turning off the computer monitor to make his point, but then he’ll have to deal with broken glass in his bath for a week. “I expect it by tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Milluki sighs. “Fine – but you owe me. Who’s it for?”</p>
<p>“Hisoka Morow. Here’s his phone number.” Illumi slips his younger brother a slip of paper. </p>
<p>Milluki looks down at the paper, then swivels around to stare at Illumi. “Hisoka… weren’t you supposed to kill him?”</p>
<p>“My client encountered a terminal situation. I suspended the job.”</p>
<p>“So why bother?”</p>
<p>Illumi crosses his arms. “Because I may have to reinstate the contract myself.” The look he gives Milluki silences any further questions on his salt-sprinkled lips. “Remember: tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.”</p>
<p>He exists the underground room and returns to his. On his way up the stairs his phone buzzes in his pocket. He waits until he’s back in his room to pull it out, sitting on the bay window that looks out over the park. There are deer grazing there; he used to feed them as a child, until it was time to learn to kill. Now they fear him. </p>
<p>The text on his phone is, unsurprisingly, from Hisoka. Anyone else who might text him is here with him in the mansion. </p>
<p>
  <i>Missing you already~</i>
</p>
<p><i>It’s the middle of the night for you</i>, replies Illumi, a little peeved. <i>Why aren’t you sleeping?</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Aren’t I thoughtful?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Couldn’t you ask your cards?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>This way, I get to talk to you. </i>
</p>
<p><i>Go to sleep.</i> Illumi tosses his phone across the room onto his bed and leans his head back against the window sash behind him. If Hisoka has any brains, he must know that Illumi will use the family’s contacts to check up on him. If he’s been buying or otherwise bartering information from one of the butlers, Illumi will find out, and he will end both of them.</p>
<p>And if he hasn’t?</p>
<p>Illumi looks down into the park. Killua is out with Alluka, feeding the deer, the two of them laughing. </p>
<p>Illumi can’t remember when the last time he felt like laughing was.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>The next day, the dossier arrives from Milluki via a maid. It’s in a locked briefcase, the key to which only family members know. He opens it and crosses to his desk to read.<p><i>Name: Hisoka Morow<br/>Age: 21<br/>Height: 6”1<br/>Weight: 180 pounds<br/>Eye colour: Yellow<br/>Hair colour: Red (dyed)<br/>Birthday: June 6, 1999<br/>Birthplace: Phoenix, Arizona, USA<br/>Passport: None<br/>Address: Apartment 101, 44 Theodore Avenue, San Francisco, USA<br/>Vehicle: None<br/>Parents: Mother Hiyori Morow, prostitute (deceased 2002). No father on birth certificate. Raised in foster care; several homes on record. Disappeared from care in 2013 (age 14). <br/>Occupation: Mystic<br/>Employer: No official employer. Has a fortune-telling stand at the San Francisco Alameda County Fair, and has worked in the past at several casinos in Santa Rosa (Park West; Graton Resort). Also has a significant source of income from international clients, who he conducts video conferences with (query: peep shows?).<br/>Education: None found<br/>Associates: Hisoka has had a series of one-night stands with local residents met through night clubs. No repeat contacts. <br/>Preferred partners: Hisoka has taken both men and women home; he prefers those his age or younger. Most of his partners have criminal records. No record of sexual preferences. <br/>Drinks: Yes<br/>Smokes: No<br/>Drugs: No<br/>Combat training: None on record<br/>Weapons: None on record<br/>Criminal record: Several misdemeanors for drunk and disorderly conduct. Barred from two night clubs in San Francisco (Blue Diamond; Paparazzi).<br/>Account balance: $2,130.04. Regular checks cut against the account for rent. He pays well below market value for his apartment. Other outgoings are consistent with groceries, clothing, and frugal entertainment. No suspicious credits or debits. No credit card debt. <br/>Notes: Hisoka appears to be a small-time conman with lucrative international relationships (query: Sex? Drugs?). He lives within his means and is relatively upstanding. He does not belong to any religious, protest, terrorist or other fringe group. <br/>Rating: D – no danger.</i> </p>
<p>Illumi finishes reading. There’s an appendix with a number of specifics including screenshots of Hisoka’s bank account deposits and withdrawals, a list of one-night stands with their phone numbers, and a map marking the location of his home, the fairgrounds, and the two casinos he works at seasonally. </p>
<p>As far as this report states, Hisoka quite simply doesn’t have the funds to purchase the information he holds. He holds no passport, and so has likely never been out of the country – certainly not legally. Limited opportunity to meet or coerce a Zoldyck family butler, and no means. Illumi closes the file slowly, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk.   </p>
<p>Mysterious. Illumi doesn’t like mysteries. </p>
<p>His mind flits back to Hisoka lying naked on his bed, one leg propped up, his smile wicked. Illumi has no doubt that that bastard loves them. </p>
<p>He sighs, opens his laptop, and connects to the family’s locked drive. Time to find a new contract. </p>
<p>In San Francisco. </p>
<p>END</p>
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